


Angelus

by applejackcat



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Tournament (2009)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applejackcat/pseuds/applejackcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Belle is cast as an angel in a nativity play, Joseph must examine his feelings for her and the Church.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angelus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ANG_the_nerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANG_the_nerd/gifts).



> I wrote this as a stocking stuffing for anonymousnergirl for the Rumbelle Secret Santa gift exchange. The prompt was: Macelle, rehab, crafts, and Christmas. It takes place primarily in a rehab center, and substance abuse and addiction are discussed.

Belle burst out of the church, turning circles in the soft powdery snow. Joseph waited in Havisham’s van, but he could hear her jubilant, infectious laughter. He wondered what had made Belle so happy. He wished he knew how to make her smile that widely and immediately felt terrible. He should rejoice in Belle’s laughter and not wish for some small part of it for himself.

The others spilled out after her: Jefferson, Wendy, Will, and Ruby. Belle’s good mood spread easily. The rest of them were all camaraderie and grins. Joseph tried not to let it bother him they they would probably leave him out of the fun. Several years older than them, he’d chosen to stay at Havisham’s long after completing the program. For the others, who’d come to the centre against their will, Joseph seemed like a Rubik’s cube: a puzzle too out-of-date to bother solving.

“Good tidings, Belle?” he asked as the woman of the hour flung open the van’s passenger side door. She clambered in beside him. Belle always rode shotgun. It’d become a standing rule, a testament to how easily others found it to love her.

“They made me their angel, Father!” Belle cried.

“Erm, I haven’t even joined the seminary yet, Belle,” Joseph blushed. Then, “The angel in the nativity play? Belle, that’s marvelous!”

“Thanks, Joseph,” Belle said teasingly. “I’ll sing a hymn and everything!”

“You’ll have to come to church every afternoon the week before Christmas Eve,” Will told her as he climbed into the van. “I don’t see the fun in that.”

“I’ll walk if I have to,” Belle said firmly.

“Of course I’ll drive you here, Belle,” Joseph promised.

Havisham’s Treatment Centre stood at the crest of a hill just outside of Story-upon-Brooke, a handsome brick building imbued with more dignity than the townsfolk thought appropriate. For the most part, the young people who sought treatment there kept to the centre’s sprawling, forested grounds. Joseph drove them into town twice a week: to do the shopping and to attend a youth meeting at St. Catherine’s Church. Joseph had attended the same gathering years ago, and neither he nor his peers had ever been chosen to participate in something as important as the nativity play.

It must have been Sister Nova, the same novice who’d encouraged Joseph to consider the priesthood, who had recognized Belle’s talent. Joseph doubted the Mother Superior would have offered a Havisham’s kid much more than a terse smile.

“I do have to make my costume,” Belle muttered, suddenly subdued. “Regina Mills doubted I’d manage that.”

“Regina Mills is a twat,” Ruby declared imperiously.

The van exploded into a raucous chorus of agreements. Joseph ought to curtail Ruby’s use of profanity, but he bore the mayor’s family no love. He knew the Mills sisters by reputation alone, but their mother Cora had left her mark on him.

“I’m surprised Regina settled for being Mary,” Wendy said as Joseph started the van.

“She gets to give birth to the messiah,” Ruby laughed. “The role suits her just fine.”

“Forget Regina. Zelena’s the one who’ll pull an All About Eve on you,” Jefferson told Belle.

Belle frowned. “All About Eve?”

Jefferson grinned. “Trust me. It means she’ll double cross you to get that role.”

“I wouldn’t allow Zelena Mills close enough to me to let her cross me the first time,” Belle assured him. Her mood dipped, though. “I bet her costume would be professionally made.”

Wendy leaned forward and squeezed Belle’s shoulder. “You’re perfect for the role, Belle. You deserve to be an angel just as much as she does.”

Belle remained quiet for the remainder of the short drive back to Havisham’s. When Joseph pulled into the carpark, everyone but her piled out of the van. Will lingered for a moment, but Ruby tapped his shoulder and shook her head. He followed her inside, casting doubtful looks behind him all the way.

“I think I might invite my dad to come,” Belle told Joseph. “I don’t know if he would. My stepmum probably wants to leave Britain for the holidays.”

“It’s a lovely idea,” Joseph assured her.

He knew Belle, like Will and Jefferson, had chosen to remain at Havisham’s for Christmas. From what Belle had told him, her father and her stepmother still struggled to come to terms with her addiction. She’d confided in him that she worried about slipping back into her habit if she had to spend a week facing their unbridled disappointment in her.

“Really?” Belle’s effervescent smile returned. “I’ll do it, then. Thanks, Joseph. You’re so kind to me.” She darted forward and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Heat flared where Belle’s lips touched his skin. Joseph remained in the same blissful, stupefied position long after Belle dashed into the centre.

* * *

For as long as he could remember, only two people sought out Joseph for the pleasure of his company. The more ginger of the pair found him after dinner that night as Joseph labored to clean the dishes in Havisham’s kitchen.

“Mind if I joined you?” Dr. Hopper asked, rolling up his sleeves.

Joseph doubted many other rehabilitation program directors would stoop to performing menial housework. Dr. Hopper found joy in every aspect of Havisham’s operation, though. He treated his patients with respect and compassion, and some of them returned years later as staff members.  

Back when Joseph graduated from Havisham’s program and had nowhere to go, Dr. Hopper hired him on as the caretaker. His official purview did not extend to cleaning up after supper, but Joseph always insisted. Such a lackluster person as himself could only demonstrate his gratitude through the small labors his hands could achieve.

“I’m almost done,” Joseph told Dr. Hopper.

Dr. Hopper eyed the stack of dirty pans that Joseph had yet to wash. “Why don’t I finish these and hand to you to arrange in the dishwasher?”

Joseph knew better than to argue. He stood aside and grabbed a towel to dry his hands, wincing as the fabric chafed his dry skin. Joseph’s nightly stints at the sink sapped his skin of its natural oils and exacerbated the rash that appeared every winter.

“I finished your recommendation, Joseph,” Dr. Hopper said as he attacked a particularly persistent grease stain.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Hopper.” With the recommendation completed, Joseph could apply to seminary before the New Year. “I finished my essay a few nights ago. Belle offered to go over it, and I’m waiting for her corrections.”

“I can’t imagine she’ll find too many. You have a wonderful mind, Joseph.” Dr. Hopper smiled at him. “You’ll do the church well.”

“I hope I will,” Joseph replied. “I want to do good, Dr. Hopper. I want to help those in need and – it’s ridiculous to think I could make the world a better place, but I’d like to try.”

“Why would thinking that be ridiculous?” Dr. Hopper asked, frowning a little.

Joseph’s face flamed. He rarely drew attention to his shortcomings, because he assumed other people thought about them as often as he did. Speaking these truths aloud felt like flaying himself in front of a cheering crowd.

“Look at me, Dr. Hopper. I’m an alcoholic who barely finished secondary school.”

“You’re a recovering alcoholic who completed secondary school while seeking treatment for his addiction. Joseph, you sell yourself short. When I look at you, I see both a fighter and a bringer of peace,” Dr. Hopper declared passionately. “Each day that you climb out of bed you make a commitment to rally against bone deep demons. You’ve walked a difficult path, but you haven’t let that harden your heart. When I think of the people you will help –”

“It makes me believe there is goodness in the world,” finished the only other person who ever sought Joseph’s company.

Dr. Hopper and Joseph whirled around to find the newly minted angel standing in the doorway. Belle held up a square green tin. “For your hands,” she told Joseph.

Dr. Hopper nodded at Joseph. “Go on,” he said. “I’ll finish up here. Nothing calms my mind like working alone in this kitchen.”

“Thanks, Belle,” Joseph said, moving towards her to take the tin of balm from her.

“I called my father.” Instead of giving Joseph the tin, Belle turned and walked into Havisham’s dining room.

“She wants you to follow,” Dr. Hopper observed.

So, like a sailor answering a siren’s beckoning song, Joseph did: he trailed in Belle’s wake, unsure of what she wanted from him. He feared disappointing her somehow and losing her affection, however little of it he might call his own. Thankfully, Belle spoke and silently asked him to listen.

“My father wants to come to the nativity play,” Belle chirped excitedly. “He said he’s proud of me!”

She lead Joseph out of the dining room and across the entry hall into Havisham’s parlor. The room down the hall with the television and the Christmas tree would doubtlessly be warmer, but Joseph heard Will arguing with Ruby about what to watch. A thrill shot through him when he realized Belle wanted to speak to him alone. Her trust in him warmed him more thoroughly than any radiator ever could. The pair of them sat down on

“That’s grand, Belle. It’ll be lovely to meet the man,” Joseph said as he and Belle sat down beside each other on one of the parlor’s blue settees.

Belle’s smile faltered. “Actually, I’m not so sure about that,” she muttered softly.

Joseph’s stomach lurched. Of course. Belle wouldn’t want her posh, successful father to meet a nobody like him. “Yeah, of course. You want time to yourselves.” He stared down at his chapped hands so he wouldn’t have to see the pity in her lovely blue eyes.

“Oh, Joseph, no!” Belle cried. “Hey, look at me.” She slid one slender finger under Joseph’s chin and tilted his head upwards. Joseph’s skin burned where she touched him. “I want nothing more than to introduce you to my father. I’m so proud to count you as a friend.”

Belle’s sweet smile swept Joseph’s shame away and replaced it with wonder. Belle counted him as her friend. He had yearned for as much ever since he met her.

“What I’m worried about is my father being rude to you.” Now Belle dropped her gaze out of shame. “I don’t know what makes me angrier, Joseph. That my father might talk down to you or that I would probably freeze and let him.”

Joseph’s body reacted before his mind could stop him. Instinctively, he reached out and wrapped his spindly arms around Belle’s shoulders. He cradled her body to his, and when she sank into his embrace with a contented sigh, Joseph felt like he’d come home for the first time in his life.

“You have something on your mind,” Joseph murmured. “I’m here to listen.”

Belle sniffled. Hot tears wetted Joseph’s neck. He wanted badly to wipe them away, but he didn’t want to startle Belle. “When my mother died, something inside of me broke. I think my father was supposed to help me heal that. But he didn’t. Being near me reminded him of her, so he decided not to be near me anymore.” Belle chuckled darkly. “I didn’t realize until I came here how angry I am at him. I have forgiven him for so much. And for the rest of my life, I’ll be his daughter the drug addict.”

“Oh, Belle, he’d be a fool to think that,” Joseph said.

“That’s what’s so infuriating. That I care what a fool thinks of me.”

“He’s your father. Love is complicated.”

“Not always, Joseph.” This time Belle’s laugh was as gentle as she was. “Love can be the most simple, pure, elemental force in the world.”

For a blinding moment, the rest of the world melted away. Joseph could be any man in history who’d been lucky enough to hold the woman for whom his feelings were simple, pure, elemental. He and Belle remembered their faults at the same time, and the intangible threads of emotion that bound them together snapped. Belle pulled back from Joseph, and although she did not look unhappy, he could tell she felt embarrassed.

“You’ll make a fine priest, Joseph,” Belle told him. “I found you so I could comfort you, but you’re the one who helped me. You’re a natural.”

Joseph’s cheeks flushed. “I dinae think priests are supposed to hold their female congregants,” he muttered.

“No, they’re not.” Belle’s eyes sparkled. “But I mean it, Joseph. God knew what he was doing when he gave you the gifts of compassion and humility. He knew you would be an instrument of comfort on earth.”

“If God wants an instrument, I can think of a dozen better ones.”

Belle frowned. “Because you’re a recovering alcoholic?”

“Because I’m me.”

Pursing her lips, Belle removed the lid of the tin. She dipped two fingers inside and came away with a thick glob of amber salve with the consistency of grease. It smelled strongly of cough drops and spices. “I know it’s difficult to get out of your own head, sometimes,” she said as she reached for one of Joseph’s hands. She set it in her lap and swiped the salve across the painful dry rash cover its back. “Everyone here seems to think highly of me, for example.”

“Everyone here loves you, Belle,” Joseph proclaimed passionately. Belle massaged the salve into his skin; Joseph fought hard not to fall into a heap at her feet. Her touch felt so wonderful. It made him realize how rarely other people reached out and touched him.

“Everyone here loves me,” Belle repeated, taking another glob from the tin, “except me. What I’m saying is that sometimes we’re the last people to realize our true worth. I struggle every day to see mine.”

“You’re worth everything, Belle.”

She beamed at him as she began to work the salve into the skin of his other hand. “Funny, that. I feel the same way about you.”

* * *

On Christmas Eve, Joseph arrived at Havisham’s van first. He climbed inside, turned on the heater, and tried not to panic over his outfit: a too-large pair of black slacks and a crisp white shirt he’d found in a charity shop.

Will and Jefferson arrived next, piling into the seats in the furthest back reaches of the van. Dr. Hopper arrived with Mr. Nolan, Havisham’s counselor. While Dr. Hopper climbed inside and seated himself directly behind Joseph, Mr. Nolan chose to lean against the passenger door. He claimed he hated sitting still for too long, but Joseph suspected he wanted to open the door for Ms. Blanchard, Havisham’s teacher and, for tonight, Belle’s self-appointed stylist.

“The service starts in thirty minutes,” Will commented. “Doesn’t Belle have to be there?”

“You can’t rush beauty,” Dr. Hopper replied.

“Not when Mary Margaret’s in charge,” Mr. Nolan chuckled.

No sooner had he spoken the name than Ms. Blanchard flung open Havisham’s front door, stepping dramatically into the chilly evening. “Lights, gentlemen!” she cried, throwing her arm into the air for good measure. “An angel walks among us.”

Grinning, Joseph flicked the van’s headlights on and maneuvered the vehicle to illuminate the front of the house. Ms. Blanchard stepped aside, revealing the most transfixing woman Joseph had ever seen: Belle, truly an seraphim made flesh.

Before leaving for Christmas holiday, Wendy gifted Belle with a beautiful silvery-blue nightgown. She wore it now, and as she walked, the shimmering skirts billowed around her ankles, making it seem as if she’d spun the fabric from the moonlight and freshly fallen snow. Ms. Blanchard added a delicate ribbon to the nightgown right underneath Belle’s bust, and Joseph appreciated this detail more than a man preparing to take the cloth should. Her chestnut curls gleamed, and the closer she drew to the van, the more clearly Joseph could see how her cheeks and arms glittered.

Belle did not derive her otherworldly beauty from her dress or her makeup, though. That came from the compassion in her smile, the way she greeted each of the men in the van with a happy wave. She truly looked like the sort of being God would send to earth to tell His most beloved people of the birth of the Christ child: someone who inspired awe while offering comfort.

Joseph swore he would tell Belle all of this later, after the nativity play, after she made peace with her father. For now, he would focus on delivering both the mortals and the heavenly to St. Catherine’s for the performance. When the women reached the van, Mr. Nolan leapt into action, executing a glamorous bow before opening the back door for Ms. Blanchard.

It occurred to Joseph that he too should have waited outside to open the door for Belle. He lurched for the passenger door handle so suddenly that Ms. Blanchard squeaked in alarm and almost fell backwards into the snow. Ever a dunce, Joseph forgot that he had already buckled himself in, and his seatbelt locked moments after he managed to catch his thigh on the gearshift. He jerked back into his seat with a pathetic whimper while Belle, too kind to laugh at him like Will and Jefferson did, opened her own door.

“You are an absolute gentleman,” Belle told him seriously.

“And safety conscious, too,” remarked Dr. Hopper helpfully.

Joseph’s face flamed, and he started the van silently, unable to recapture the poetry which had, moments ago, filled him to the brim. Maybe he had best keep his feelings about Belle to himself. If he tried another gesture tonight, no matter how small, he would only serve to humiliate himself further. He committed himself to remaining silent for the rest of the night, a decision made easier by the numerous conversations that soon filled the van. Will and Jefferson argued with Dr. Hopper about Man United’s chances next season; Ms. Blanchard and Mr. Nolan chatted about everything but their very obvious mutual attraction.

But as they rumbled down the hill into Story-upon-Brooke, Belle whispered to Joseph, “I’m so nervous. Not just about performing. About talking with my father, showing him how I’ve changed.”

“He’ll be so proud of you, Belle,” Joseph murmured in reply. “We all are. You look beautiful, but it’s more than that. When I look at you tonight, I see God’s grace and his forgiveness and proof that He makes wonderful creations because of His love for us. It’s a feeling you give me, you see.”

Belle sighed softly. “Oh, Joseph. Having you in the audience tonight makes me a little less afraid.” She paused. “A lot less afraid, actually.”

Joseph glanced in the rearview mirror, because he did not know what would happen if he were to look over at Belle that moment. He gasped when his eyes found Dr. Hopper’s. He could not interpret the look on Dr. Hopper’s face, and he worried that his mentor disapproved of how boldly he had spoken to Belle.

For the short remainder of the van ride, Joseph retook his vow of silence. Belle, lost in her own uncertainties, did not tempt him to speak again.

* * *

Joseph knew something had gone wrong the moment the van parked in front of St. Catherine’s. Mother Superior and Sister Nova huddled together by the church’s entrance, flanked by Mayor Mills and his wife Cora, a woman who would have run circles around Lady Macbeth.

“What’s this?” Dr. Hopper wondered, and his worried tone confirmed to Joseph that all was not well.

Beside him, Belle paled. She struggled to unbuckle her seatbelt and launch herself from the van, but Ms. Blanchard caught her arm. “Don’t forget your coat, Belle,” she said soothingly, handing Belle her posh red peacoat.

“Are we late?” Belle asked anxiously, color rising in her cheeks. “We’re late! I’ve mucked up the entire evening already! Damn, damn!”

“They’re coming towards us,” Will observed.

“They don’t look happy,” Jefferson added.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Mr. Nolan instructed. “Belle, we’re not late. I’m sure they just want to greet us.” He sounded uncertain, though.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to jump to conclusions,” Will muttered.

“That’s enough, Will!” Ms. Blanchard scolded.

Belle finally managed to undo her buckle. Ignoring her coat, she threw open her door and leapt from the van. Joseph scrambled to follow her. He hated the idea of Belle facing the likes of Cora Mills on her own, even if the woman came in peace. He stepped out of the van just as Belle ran around its bonnet and met their welcome party.

“Belle, dear, we’ve been trying to call you,” Sister Nova began anxiously. Her eyes looked red-rimmed and sad. “We’ve been trying to reach you for – we’ve been trying to reach you.”

Belle froze. Joseph watched as she began to tremble, and not from the unforgiving cold. She kept her back ramrod straight and would not make Sister Nova’s task any easier by filling in the gaps.

“What’s going on?” Dr. Hopper asked. Joseph hadn’t heard him leave the van, but now the other man stood beside him and firmly behind Belle.

“I should go inside –” Belle stopped speaking and pressed a hand over her mouth when her voice wavered. Joseph saw tears forming in her blue eyes. Belle collected herself and spoke again. “I should go inside. I don’t want the service and the play to start late.” She waited for someone to confirm that yes, as the angel, she did need to go inside and take her place.

“Oh, Belle,” groaned Sister Nova. She wore a tortured expression.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Mother Superior said, stepping forward. “Sister Nova realized earlier tonight that Zelena Mills would make a more appropriate angel.”

Belle staggered backwards. Joseph moved quickly to her side, desperate to take her pain and make it his own. He caught her elbow in his hand, and she did not shake him off of her.

“That’s preposterous,” Dr. Hopper declared. “This has to be a mistake.”

“I assure you, it isn’t.” Mother Superior eyed Belle. “Sister Nova should have consulted me before assigning roles. You must understand how the nativity play is a reflection of St. Catherine’s.”

Dr. Hopper’s eyes narrowed. “And how, pray tell, does that factor into this decision?”

Cora Mills spoke next, as venomous as Joseph remembered her. “Surely you must realize how it would look to have Ms. French portray an angel.”

“Now, dear, we agreed to be polite,” the mayor interjected.

But Joseph knew better than anyone how much Cora thrilled at crushing the spirit of others underneath the heel of her designer stiletto. She lived to draw blood and spit poison.

“Enlighten me,” Belle growled.

Joseph could feel how fiercely she shook, and he knew she had dipped into the last of her courage to stand up for herself. The cruel smile that spread over Cora’s face made him nauseous. He wanted to intercede on Belle’s behalf, to force Mother Superior to see the error of her ways and put everything to right. But his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, and he remained mute.

“What kind of message would it send to allow a drug addict to proclaim the arrival of our Lord and Savior?” Cora hissed. “Zelena not only looks like an angel, she behaves like one.”

Belle gasped. She sagged into Joseph’s embrace.

“You pompous bitch,” spat Ms. Blanchard, who had also emerged silently from the van.

“Have you never bothered to open a bible before?” Dr. Hopper enunciated each word with barely contained fury. “I can think of a dozen pieces of scripture that would refute your vile opinion.”

“And I can think of a few things to add to that,” Ms. Blanchard said murderously, “but you won’t find them in the good book.”

Cora had the audacity to smile even more broadly. “What charming employees you have,” she remarked.

“Belle, I am so incredibly sorry about this,” Sister Nova exclaimed, near tears.

“As a gesture of goodwill, my wife and I would like to invite you to sit in our pew tonight,” the mayor offered belatedly.

“Belle?” asked Joseph.

“No.” She jerked her head mechanically. “No.”

“We’re going,” Dr. Hopper declared. He glared at Mother Superior. “You should know that I don’t believe in a fire and brimstone hell.” He turned his attention to Cora Mills. “But every once in a while, I meet someone who makes me hope.”

Ms. Blanchard rushed forward and took Belle’s other elbow. “Wait,” Belle managed. “My father.”

“We’ll invite him back to Havisham’s for pudding,” Ms. Blanchard assured her.

“I’ll go find him,” Joseph offered.

“No,” Belle pleaded, clutching at his arm. “Please, don’t leave me.”

As the two nuns and the Mills made their return to the church, they all heard Cora say, “I don’t know why this upset them so much. She didn’t even bother to bring a costume.”

Belle hunched over at the waist, letting loose a jagged wail.

“Belle?”

Everyone had been so focused upon her that they’d missed the approach of a tall, brawny man: the sort of fellow who slept on fine sheets, dined on fine food, and wrought from life everything it had to offer. Mr. French.

“Papa,” Belle exclaimed, righting herself and turning to greet him. Tears streamed down her face, and Joseph could scarcely believe it when he saw Belle’s father draw back in alarm. “Papa, they’ve recast the role. I’m not going to be the angel.”

Mr. French glowered. “What’s that, now?”

“They said – they said an addict shouldn’t play an angel,” Belle sobbed.

Step forward and hug her, Joseph silently begged Mr. French. She’s your daughter. Comfort her!

“This is a travesty, Mr. French,” Dr. Hopper said. “I’ve never been so disgusted in my life.”

“Damn it,” cursed Mr. French. Belle stared at him hopefully, and Joseph later reflected that the night might have been salvaged if he had turned his ire upon his daughter’s wrongdoers. But in a night of unjust disappointments, Mr. French took the cake. “You know I had to reschedule a cruise to be here tonight, Belle? It did not go over well with your stepmother. I did that because you told me you’d been cast in this nativity play.”

“She had been,” Ms. Blanchard protested. “They changed their minds at the last minute.”

But Mr. French had already decided to make his daughter the scapegoat for his unsatisfactory evening. “You can see their point, can’t you? A church can’t endorse drug use.”

“As you well know, Mr. French, Belle is in recovery,” Dr. Hopper all but snarled. “The work she has done to address her addiction has been remarkable.”

Mr. French grunted. “Yes. And I’m proud of her. But she can’t expect everyone to see it that way.”

Belle started to sob. She pressed her hands to her mouth to muffle her cries, but her body shook with the effort.

“Ah, Belle.” Mr. French shuffled in the snow. He did not look directly at Belle but rather at a spot over her left shoulder. “Always so sensitive. I need to go now. I can still join your stepmother and the girls for midnight mass. We’ll talk later. When you’ve calmed down.” Mr. French turned to leave without so much as a hug for his devastated child. When he paused, Joseph allowed himself a flicker of hope. But Mr. French said was, “An apology would go a long way towards soothing things with your stepmother.”

And he disappeared into the night, taking with him the last of Belle’s spirit.

Joseph would have despised Mr. French if he had not been so worried about Belle. Ms. Blanchard crooned soothing encouragements into Belle’s ear, trying to navigate her back towards the van. Jefferson and Will had pressed their faces to the window of the vehicle and wore twin expressions of barely contained rage. Mr. Nolan had crossed his arms across his chest. He looked as sad as Dr. Hopper.

“What do you need, Belle?” Joseph asked her quietly. If she asked him to storm into the church and ruin Zelena Mills’ debut as a false angel, then God forgive him, but he would.

True to her nature, though, Belle did not ask for her honor to be avenged or another’s night to be ruined. When Joseph reached out to touch her gently, to let her know he would wait for her answer no matter how long it took, she recoiled from him. Belle straightened and shifted so she didn’t have to face him, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Let’s just go back to Havisham’s, please. I want to lay down. I don’t think I’ll be very enjoyable this evening.” Belle hurried towards the van, but instead of climbing into the passenger seat, she disappeared into the back of the vehicle. She wedged herself between Will and Jefferson.

“We still have pudding,” Ms. Blanchard said weakly.

Dr. Hopper sighed. “Yes. Although I must admit, I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment.”

None of them did.

Joseph climbed into the driver’s seat of the van, and seven dejected souls began their journey back to a home that would offer them no peace.

* * *

As soon as Joseph parked the van in Havisham’s car park, Belle fled to the privacy of her room.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Ms. Blanchard told Dr. Hopper, slipping out after her.  

“Nice friends you have there, Father MacAvoy,” Will grunted angrily.

“I haven’t even applied to seminary yet,” Joseph said in defense at the same time Dr. Hopper snapped, “That’s enough!”

In the rearview mirror, Joseph saw Will roll his eyes. “But you’re going to, aren’t you? What do you see in those bastards, eh?”  

“The Mother Superior doesn’t represent the Catholic church any more than I do,” Joseph protested weakly. For the first time, it occurred to him that he would soon join the same institution that played a role in Belle’s shaming. He wondered, horrified, if Belle had jerked away from him because she thought the opposite. He could only manage to add, “And I’m as broken as she is. I try to live my life by the word of God because I know of no other way to heal myself.”

The fight left Will in the blink of an eye. He slumped into his seat and groaned. “Fuck, mate, I’m sorry. I’m a complete wanker. I know you’ll be one of the good ones.”

Joseph shook his head. “I dinae know about that.”

“Then trust us,” Mr. Nolan replied, “when we say we do. Will’s right, Joseph. You’ve got a gift for finding the exact right way to comfort people.”

“I could nae comfort Belle tonight,” Joseph said miserably.  

“I don’t know if Belle was ready to be comforted,” Dr. Hopper replied. “But you’ll be there when she is.”

The others dispersed then: Dr. Hopper and Mr. Nolan in search of mince pies, Will and Jefferson to the common room to watch Christmas programs. Still feeling badly about his outburst, Will invited Joseph to join them.  

“No, thanks,” Joseph told them. “I really need to think for a bit.”

“Nothing too dangerous, I hope,” Will said, going so far as to punch Joseph’s shoulder as he climbed from the van.

The gesture touched Joseph. He and Will rarely spoke. They weren’t close by any stretch of the imagination. All this time, Joseph assumed Will saw him as he saw himself: homely, forgettable, awkward. Instead, Will respected and maybe even admired him.

Belle’s voice echoed in his head. “Sometimes we’re the last to see our true worth.”

Looking back at Havisham’s, Joseph thought of Belle. He could never make her forget this awful night or the stinging humiliation Cora and Mother Superior inflicted upon her. He prayed he could make Belle see herself as he did: someone whose spirit brightened the world.

_An earthly angel._

Joseph remained in the van long after the heat seeped out. Underdressed in a second-hand jacket and his attempt at evening wear, he soon began to shiver. Just as the cold made staying in the vehicle untenable, Joseph’s gaze alighted on the magnificent fir trees that encircled Havisham’s. Fluffy mounds of snow made their mighty branches droop. Moonlight made the snow shimmer and reminded Joseph of Belle’s incandescent skin.

And with a clarity that could only be heaven sent, Joseph realized how he could comfort Belle: by building an angel a pair of wings.

* * *

Forty minutes later, Joseph had still not managed to find a fir tree he could climb. He began charging the trees and trying to use his momentum to thrust his skinny body upwards; he only managed to turn the tips of his fingers splintery and bloody. He might have spent the rest of the night wrestling perennials if Dr. Hopper had not come to investigate.

“Need a hand, Joseph?” he asked, his words lighthearted but his tone concerned.

Panting, Joseph turned to face Dr. Hopper. He saw Mr. Nolan making his way towards them through the snow. “I want to make Belle a pair of wings,” he said. “Angel wings. We dinae have feathers, and besides, that would take too long. I thought these fir tree branches would do, though.”

Dr. Hopper considered Joseph for a moment, then turned his gaze upwards, into the trees’ dark canopies. “I think that’s a marvelous idea, Joseph,” he declared, a grin spreading across his face.

“What can we do to help?” Mr. Nolan asked.

“We need branches,” Joseph answered. “And wire, I think. Something to hold the branches together and give them shape, yeah?”

“I think we have a saw,” Dr. Hopper said, “and probably wire too. David, would you mind checking the front hall closet?”

Mr. Nolan nodded. “Of course. And if you don’t mind, may I let Mary Margaret in on the project? She has a superb sense of style.”

“Yeah, that’d be grand,” Joseph agreed.

With a thrilling whoop, Mr. Nolan took off at a sprint towards Havisham’s. Now that they’d found a project to focus their energies upon, their moods had lifted considerably.

Dr. Hopper clapped Joseph on the shoulder. “What did we tell you? You’re a natural at comforting others. Your future congregants will be better for knowing you.”

But all Joseph could think of for the rest of the night was Belle. Not Belle-the-angel, not Belle-the-scorned, but pure, simple, elemental Belle.

* * *

By the time light began streaming through the windows of Havisham’s common room, everyone but Belle had joined the wings-building effort.

Will and Jefferson raided most of the closets in the centre looking for wire hangers. With no shortage of cursing and guffaws, the pair of them snipped and molded the hangers in to long, curving beams. Mr. Nolan wrapped the beams together, and Dr. Hopper helped him form the outline of a mighty pair of wings. Joseph himself bound the branches he’d cut from the trees with heavy twine. Ms. Blanchard flitted around the men, adding several finishing touches: bits of shiny glass, the same ribbon she’d sewn to Belle’s gown, even ornaments in the shapes of stars and snowflakes.

By some Christmas miracle, they finished the wings shortly before eight in the morning. Everyone collapsed into couches or on the floor. No one had slept the night before. The frenetic excitement that sustained them into the wee hours of the morning deserted them in the face of a completed project.

“Sipping chocolate sounds absolutely divine,” murmured Ms. Blanchard sleepily.

“Allow me to whip some up, then, mademoiselle,” Mr. Nolan offered, bowing to her once more.

Ms. Blanchard laughed happily. “I insist upon helping you, then.”

Mr. Nolan waggled his eyebrows at her. “I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

The two of them disappeared to the kitchen. “Young love,” guffawed Will.

“Let’s not turn to idle gossip,” Dr. Hopper tutted, but he wore an enormous smile.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs caused them all to sit up on high alert. “Belle,” Jefferson said.

“This is your show, Joseph,” Dr. Hopper told him.

As Belle approached the common room, Joseph’s courage fled him. What if she laughed at her wings? She might think him stupid for spending his night running at trees! Who’d ever heard of an angel with fir tree branches sprouting from their back, anyways? Even worse, Belle might pretend to like them but secretly pity him for offering her a homemade gift. In his heart, Joseph knew she would never be so cruel, but he could not help but be afraid.

He felt as though he were offering Belle a piece of his heart and soul. Right then, the wings seemed like so much more.

Belle appeared in the doorway, sleepy and sad. “Good morning,” she yawned, stretching. “Did everyone sleep well?”

“Not really,” Joseph answered. “We were putting the finishing touches on your costume.”

Belle frowned. “Beg pardon?” Then she saw the wings, which smelled of the forest and glittered like jewels, and she let out cry of shock. “What are those?” she demanded.

Joseph’s face flamed. “They’re how I see you, Belle.”

Tears streamed down Belle’s cheeks. “Oh, Joseph!”

Quickly, Joseph added, “Everyone helped out. Everyone sees you-”

“Don’t listen to him, Belle,” Will interrupted. “Joseph oversaw this project top to bottom.”

“Would you like to try them on?” Joseph asked her. Belle had turned from the wings and now focused her attention upon him. She did not waver in her admiration of him, and her attention turned him inside out.

“I’ll help you,” Ms. Blanchard said. She scooted around Belle and deposited a tray of mugs, brimming with sipping chocolate, onto the coffee table. Belle followed her into the room, and they spent the next five minutes maneuvering the  wings into place.

The wings were heavy, but Belle bore their weight with grace. When she finally wore them, she stretched her arms as far as she could on either side of her, and her fingertips barely touched their edges. Joseph watched Belle twirl in place, her face alight with joy and wonder.

Her happiness meant so much, perhaps everything, to him.

Suddenly, Belle whirled and launched herself at Joseph. She swept him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his slender waist and pressing their bodies together. “Really, Joseph, these wings belong on you,” Belle whispered. Her breath against the shell of his ear felt unbearably hot. Joseph gulped. Belle giggled, and the vibrations of her voice made his head swim.

“Oh, drat,” Ms. Blanchard cursed, “I’ve forgotten the whipped cream.”

“I’ll fetch it,” Mr. Nolan said.

“I’ll help,” Dr. Hopper offered.

“Will, Jefferson, you two can help us with breakfast,” Ms. Blanchard instructed.

Within seconds, Joseph and Belle were left alone in the common room.

“Joseph, would you mind if I took the wings off for now?” Belle asked with surprising shyness for a woman who had just giggled in his ear.

“Of course!”

Joseph’s hands trembled so much that it took much longer to remove the wings than it had to put them on. The others’ voices drifted down the hallway. Joseph expected someone to return at any moment. He startled whenever someone laughed loudly in the kitchen.

Once the wings had been carefully set aside, Joseph and Belle settled themselves on a couch. Their knees and thighs brushed. For a while, neither of them spoke. Joseph thought he could see something warring within Belle: a fierce desire she dare not speak aloud.

“They’re wrong about you, Belle,” he said at last. “Cora Mills. Mother Superior. Your father.” The last person was the most difficult to mention.

“Yeah, they are,” Belle agreed. She sounded as if only ninety percent of herself believed that.

“If you dinnae always feel that way, you can always come to me,” Joseph promised her. “I will always believe differently. I will always tell you otherwise.”

Belle considered him. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her upper lip trembled. “Can you make that vow? Even as you’re about to become a priest?”

Joseph stared down at his hands. He had used Belle’s salve frequently this winter, and his skin felt smooth and soft. Funny, but he had thought little about his application to seminary since Will mentioned it last night. His thoughts had been occupied by Belle.

“I don’t suppose I could,” he admitted.

“Oh.” Belle sounded so lost. “I see.” When Joseph looked up at her, he found she had buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as, for the second time in so few hours, she began to sob again.

“Please tell me how I can help,” Joseph pleaded. He could not bear to see her in such pain again. After all his hard work, he had made Belle happy for all of twenty minutes.

“You can’t!” Belle exclaimed.

“I would do anything for you.”

“Would you forsake the priesthood?” Belle demanded. Joseph gasped. “All I want is the chance to love you, Joseph. I want to care for you as you care for me. I love you, but we can never be together, and I don’t know how to looks towards my future when I know that.”

Joseph made the decision in the blink of an eye. He later reflected that a man so willing to turn his back on seminary must never have been that dedicated to becoming a clergyman. He leaned forward and pulled Belle towards him. Gently, so she had time to turn him away, Joseph leaned forward and kissed Belle.

_Love can be so simple._

Belle relaxed into his embrace. Their kiss was soft and mostly chaste. They were satisfied with holding one another because, suddenly, they’d been offered the rest of their lives to figure out they would work as a couple.

When they broke apart, Joseph told Belle, “I love you too.”

“No priesthood?”

“Nae. Mother Superior will be so disappointed.”

Belle snorted. “Wait until she hears I’m the one who led you astray.”

“Oh, I think you’ve helped me find the right path, Belle.”

She reached out and stroked Joseph’s hair lovingly. “Charmer.”

Later, Ms. Blanchard called them to breakfast. Later, they told Dr. Hopper about their love for one another and Joseph’s decision to terminate his seminary application. Later, Dr. Hopper asked Joseph if he’d ever considered counseling. Belle too. He said the pair had a knack for reaching world-weary souls.

But for the present, Joseph and Belle lay in one another’s embrace, two people who found a home in time for Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Belle's addiction interfered with her schooling, so she is nineteen when the story takes place. Joseph is about twenty-three. Anywhere other than fanfiction, I imagine that romances between the clients and staff at a rehab facility would be frowned upon. Dr. Hopper welcomes their relationship because he sees Joseph and Belle as consenting adults who will be able to support one another as they move forward. In case anyone worried about impropriety! Cheers and I hope you enjoyed reading.


End file.
